


Protean Notes

by LionoftheSouth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Implied Sexual Content, Occlumency, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-22 12:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LionoftheSouth/pseuds/LionoftheSouth
Summary: A Malfoy at wits-end knows Snape won't leave him alone if his grades drop in even a single class. So, he decides to copy Granger's History of Magic notes.





	1. Chapter 1

Two months before final exams, and impossible to stay awake during the best of times, History of Magic lectures had become even more untenable. 

Her notes were likely the best in the class, that is how he rationalized it to himself. Months ago, after a week of failed positioning, he managed to cast a protean charm on Hermione's notebook. She was at the top of their class, except for him, of course. So, from who else should he copy? Of course, his truthfulness didn't extend to the fact that this year he would have been, more accurately, in the bottom third of the class, but he had more important things to do. Once Severus had started interfering however, he had no choice other than to find other ways to keep up the appearance of maintaining his grades. A little spell here, a cheating quill there... And then back to his mission.

But every so often he was simply tired. And some nights, longing for the simpler times, he found himself studying, actually studying. 

That night, however, the second page into that day's charms notes, he laughed to himself aloud. Ha! He had a little treasure for the moment. She had broken image of the scrupulous student and had been journaling in class. Those were always amusing. The inner workings of that Granger mind had him occasionally howling. 

But tonight, however, after a minute of reading and waiting for the grand payoff, he froze. His name was on the page.

The writing was of another hand and then alternated with Granger's. It was a condensed argument, initiated by Potter.

Potter suspected him. Granger and Weasley thought he was too stupid and irrelevant to be behind anything. Potter thought he was a death eater. His blood went cold. After satisfying himself that the Golden Trio was none-the-wiser to what he was actually doing, he leant back in his chair and breathed again. 

His momentary reprieve was gone. He would have to be more careful. His lookout was suspected. He would need to start polyjucing his help. And, he chuckled slightly to himself, it seemed Granger was wrong for once. 

But, he would certainly be reading her notes daily.

***

Hermione was furious. Bins was yet again glossing over Elfish enslavement. This always set her blood blazing. She dutifully continued taking notes, but not five minutes later, Bins was showing one of his rare bouts of blood purity racism. 

She would not listen to this drivel without injecting her own thoughts. She started comparing Wizarding and Muggle stories. Line by line and side by side. Before the class was up, she had a long list of anecdotes listed beside wizard equivalents. The Colonization of India and Africa, the Slave Trade, Selma, Martin Luther King, Jr., Abraham Lincoln, Special Restriction Order of 1825, League of Coloured Peoples,... 

By the time she was done with her comparisons, she noticed the whole class had gone. And by the level of light still in the classroom, she suspected dinner may be winding down.

Still, as she always did after a bought of writing, she felt a bit enlightened. Some new parallels about what may happen in the Wizarding World were swirling in her mind. She wasn't as confident that the mechanics of Muggle society would translate well into Wizarding society given the cultural difference surrounding balance of power and social hierarchy was fundamentally different.

Her musings continued to appear on the page later in the tower, long after her housemates were asleep. 

***

Draco's eyes seemed to be separated from his head. His mind seemed to be in in a different place than his body. And a part of his brain seemed to be walled off completely from another portion of his screaming conscience. It screamed at him to stop, that he was reading something dangerously traitorous. That he was foolishly wasting his evening, that he was an idiot to spend a moment longer on this drivel. He was listening to the voice that voice tried for hours to drown out. And he was ignoring that voice. Small thoughts came up as if they were not his. He knew they were his thoughts. He knew they were his doubts, just as he had all along. 

But when he went to sleep that night, he forgot they were his thoughts, and he forgot they were his doubts. His shouting mind convinced him he had gone out of his mind for a moment, and that it was quite all right but he had wasted enough time.

***

She couldn't breathe properly for days. 

Everything had started. It all had begun. 

And she was going to have to protect the boys. But was she ready? Was she prepared? All she could do was check and double-check her plans and her preparations.

***

His own voice was still ringing in his ears. He had not lost control like that since he was a child and his father had disciplined him smartly for it. His face still stung.

'Why is he still here?' echoed over and over in the faded timbre of the lower dining hall. 

Then his father's narrowed eyes and his mother's horror-stricken gasp. 

They had gone out. Thankfully, or he may be dead at this moment or near to it. The only one to hear his outburst besides his immediate kin had been Severus. 

After his gruelling task, after his long, tiresome year, he thought he would have bought freedom for his family. But they were still enslaved.

Severus had sighed.

And when he knocked later, Draco let him in.

They had spoken briefly, and when the man left, Draco collected a certain journal.

He found a hint of a plan written toward the end, but, devil-be-damned if he would utter a single word of it to anyone.

And the other part of his mind pretended he never saw it.

***

The small framed mirror on her dresser refracted the setting sun straight into Hermione's eyes. It was only the second time that day she took any pause, but the view out her childhood window suddenly derailed the train that was her current task. 

Tomorrow all she would have done today would be all but irreversible. Tomorrow, there would be no more home to which to return.

The fading July sun skimmed the slightly flickering trees, and her eyes melted along the opposing houses she knew so well and filtered down to the white gate and front lawn. Out of her haze, she could hear her parent's voices filtering through the front screen door, accompanied by the light clinking of dinnerware. She would no doubt be called down soon for the last meal.

She closed her eyes briefly, listening, waiting, breathing.

***

He slid his hand along the bannister of the staircase, letting it fall a step ahead of him. And as if he knew it had been coming, he paused at the shrieking that gradually rose like a tide into a tumult in the capacious entry hall. His feet started moving backwards of their own volition and he nearly tripped over his robes. Cursing under his breath, he cast a quick silencing spell and ran to his room. Breath heaving, he warded the door and then instantly thought better of his insolence. 

Moments, or maybe hours later, he became aware as the smells of dinner crept under his door. Dread filled him, and the clock ticked by until there was a sharp, single rap on his door. 

Lucious. 

No, he daren't leave. Did he want his mother to be killed?

He had a role, a duty. 

Thanking damn Uncle Severus and his legilimency, he let his thumb faintly tap a specific floorboard and he stood up. Robes dusted. He walked into the hallway, blocking out the grey world of his mother's trembling touch on his arm with his search to find comfort in running endless historical parallels and predictive outcome models.

He wasn't thinking about victors and vanquished, he was thinking of ways his family could coming out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may not be any good. It's going to be pretty short. Hopefully, someone enjoys :)
> 
> Helpful feedback always welcome, please no flames.
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply. This simply is a spot of fun.


	2. Chapter 2

Snow was falling lightly on the roof of the tent. She could hear the faint patter on the canvas as she slowly washed two small plates.

It was quiet, she was alone, but the tears had stopped coming. 

The helplessness played on her emotions, somewhere in the back of her head. But as she slumped back down to her dinner chair, she faced the opening of the tent, and she could see Harry's back, slightly hunched, in the cold.

She couldn't give up. There had to be a way.

And yet again, she reached into her satchel -- the one that never left her hip, and pulled out Tales of Beedle the Bard.

After about an hour, she grew tired and thought of one more absurd tactic to try: randomly summoning books in hopes of stumbling on some connection. 

She wasn't sure how many minutes had ticked by on her watch, or how many times she had looked up at Harry before she knocked over her chair and nearly screamed.

Harry bolted into the tent.

***

He had to get rid of the book.

He decided this in resolute fear while watching the third torture this week. The pace was increasing.

And standing in the East Hall, the smaller great room that Voldemort had decided was cozier for the Death Eaters to gather in, he felt a cold sense of reality creep over him.

It was as if he were in a trance before this moment on the count of that book. It held certain death for him and his family should Voldemort find it.

He wasn't sure why clarity had fallen upon him at this moment. Wasn't it enough of a lesson in his own position that he spent a year desperately trying to save his parent's lives?

No, perhaps not. His Uncle had been there. It was fear of what the Dark Lord would do had he asked for help, but it was moreso his pride.

This time, there was no safety net.

Or maybe it was how he saw his father reduced to a puppet and prisoner the day-in and day-out.

Or maybe it was his growing appreciation for the horrors of torture and death at the hand of the Dark Lord. 

But, ice-cold horror was going to stay with him until he had removed the evidence. At present, all that stood between Voldemort and the truth was his burgeoning Occlumency skills and a thin floorboard. 

He had to remove the Protean charm before destroying the book. Otherwise, he wasn't sure what would happen to the other copy. He wouldn't hesitate a second to destroy her notes, but he needed her to get his message. Just in case they didn't know... Just in case.

He would destroy the book tonight. 

And for the first time in his life, he seriously considered obligating himself.


	3. Chapter 3

"Honestly, Granger, if I had any further information on Mulciber, I would wrap it and place it at your prosecutorial feet."

"Shag off, Malfoy." She said, grabbing the single tiny scroll  
the Auror was proffering across her desk. She still didn't trust him, and he knew it.

"Manners, Granger," he said, drawl absent, leaning on her doorframe. 

She started unfurling the scroll, ignoring the fact that he was lingering. And then her heart stopped for a moment.

"Draco!"

She couldn't believe this. It had been him. All those years ago. 

He had been walking away, and he turned around, eyes quizzical. 

"It was you," she said with more composure. Confusion, suspicion and joy going for a tumble inside of her. "Wasn't it?"

"What are you babbling about?"

"My History of Magic notebook."

His mind ground to a halt and switched gears, and his face probably showed as much.

"The Taboo," she intoned. "It was you." She repeated, entirely unnecessarily. "It was you? I mean, your handwriting, it has to be. It is exactly what was on the cover of my notebook. I guess I've never seen your handwriting. But why?"

"Granger!" He took a long, heavy breath and his hand rose to thread though his silky blonde hair. 

"Potter had a bad habit. And I wasn't keen on having you by for dinner."

"How about I take you to dinner instead." She said immediately unsure of her words. "To thank you, I mean. You may have saved our lives.

"No." He said.

And she could feel heat rising in her face.

"But I would like one favor," he said.

She looked at his face with confusion at the innocent playfulness she found there.

She wasn't sure why, but his demeanor was calming her.

"What would you like?"

"For you to agree to let me take you out on a date."


	4. Chapter 4

Her laugh was infectious, and he pulled her legs closer across his lap to him as he lightly swirled his wine. Her eyes were glinting in the fire, and he could hear the house brace against the sudden cold, snowy wind. She was talking on about their plans for next month when he stopped her with a kiss.

"Yes, no, no, yes, and give him a box of biscuits."

She laughed again and moved to sit on his lap properly. It was getting late and they had been talking all night.

"There's something I never said to you." He said, pausing to kiss her gently.

"Yes?" she asked softly.

"You know you saved my life in that journal too, right?"

"I know," she said, leaning in to continue what he started. "But when you are ready, I want to hear the whole story."

"Soon, love," he said.

***

"Granger," he whispered into her ear, breath uneven. "One more secret for tonight..." he followed.

"Yes?" she said unevenly, looking up into his grey eyes, dark in the cabin light.

"I've liked you since First Year."

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks :)
> 
> I hope it was worth your read if you got to the end! If you feel like it's lacking something, let me know and maybe I'll add an epilogue? 
> 
> I'm trying to focus on finish things these days instead of letting things sit unfinished for years in a perfectionistic haze. So, I'm sorry if it's a bit of a letdown.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Would love to hear from you if you have any feedback/thoughts or just want to say hi :)


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